The Playlist Of His Soul
by ThatChildIsBacon
Summary: A series of kinda-interlinked drabbles to music. Jack/Ianto with quite a lot of angst
1. A Change Is Gonna Come

**DISCLAIMER: Unfortunately I do not own Torchwood *cries* or the song! They belong to the BBC and Sam Cooke ****respectively. **

**This is my first fic so be gentle with me! Speaking of which...  
>Beta'd by When the Wind Stands Fair. <strong>

A Change Is Gonna Come – Sam Cooke

Jack stood outside the apartment, contemplating whether or not to knock, whether it was the right time. He made his decision, but his hand stilled before it hit the door. He heard the sound of music drifting out from the room, and a lilting Welsh voice caress the lyrics.

_I was born by a river, in a little tent,  
>And like the river I've been running, ever since.<br>It's been a long, a long time coming,  
>But I know a change gonna come.<em>

Ianto sat in his apartment; glass in one hand, three-quarters empty bottle of Jack Daniels in the other, letting the soft soul music drift around him. He found himself singing along, sneering at how much that song seemed to speak to him.

_It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die._

His voice never wavered, but tears began to spill over his eyes at the line. All he had wanted for days now was just to disappear, go the easy way, but the truth was he was too scared. He didn't know why, but that primal fear gripped him every time he even contemplated it. Things were going to change. He knew that, but in what way? Was Jack going to come round? If so, when? And what would he use? Retcon or his trusty Webley?

_Then I go to my brother, and I said brother help me please  
>But he winds up knockin' me, back down on my knees.<em>

Jack. He would be the only one Ianto would have trusted, and the one who would eventually bring him down. Maybe that's what he needed - someone else to pull the trigger, someone else to stop him hurting. Because god knows he hurts. His body, his heart, he couldn't deal with it. No matter what Sam Cooke said, he didn't think he was able to carry on. All that pain, all the hurt and the anger. All that death. It had been his fault. All of it.  
>As the song drifted to its end, Ianto drained his glass and poured another, hoping the alcohol would numb the pain.<p>

_It's been a long, a long time coming but I know, a change is gonna come._


	2. Don't Let Go

**Ok so this took a slightly different turn to what I was expecting, but blame stream of conciousness =/  
>Anyhu, I'm here to tell you I own naught but the storyline, Torchwood and the song belong to the BBCT-****Dog and Weezer respectively.  
>Beta'd as always by my lovely When The Wind Stands Fair.<br>And now, over to you... **

Don't Let Go – Weezer

A knock at the door roused Ianto from his melancholy stupor. Sipping from his glass, he flipped the lock open and was already halfway back across the room when Jack entered. He could tell Jack was looking around his apartment, now scattered with empty bottles, increasing in strength until he had settled for the welcoming burn of Jack Daniels. He snarled inwardly, he couldn't even escape Jack by getting drunk, he was everywhere.  
>He heard Jacks deep sigh and knew he had somehow failed whatever test the man had thought up, and for once he didn't care. He didn't care what anyone thought. It hurt too much to care. He drank deeply from his glass, trying to erase the thoughts whirling around in his head.<br>"Ianto...?" Jack's voice broke through the haze.  
>His eyes flicked to him, but he didn't reply. As the next track started up on his iPod, he decided to let the music do the talking for him.<p>

_Anytime that you want  
>I'll be here in your arms, <em>

In anger, in protection, he'd been there so many times before. He'd probably never be there again. He wanted to, God knows he did and it scared him. But he didn't just want to _be_ there, he wanted it to _mean_ something, and that scared him even more.  
>He looked directly at Jack, stared straight into those strange blue eyes, knowing his were little more than dull, dead, hollow shells, and let the lyrics talk.<p>

_But if there comes a day,  
>You should turn your heart away,<br>I'll be down on my knees,  
>Beggin' for that girl to stay.<em>

It wasn't necessarily true and he knew it, he just wanted Jack to know. Know that he wanted to mean something to the team, know that he wasn't just the _teaboy_. He wanted to kid himself that if he just faded away and disappeared that someone would notice, would say "Where's Ianto?" or even just "Teaboy". Hell, anything.

_Anything that you desire  
>I will set at your feet,<em>

That was his job. _'I clear up your shit, no questions asked, and that's the way you like it.'_ He'd screamed it at them, at Jack. He was worthless. He was stupid and heartless. _He_ was the monster, not Jack. Those last few months he hadn't even loved her, not really, not like he used to. Ok yes, she was everything and he would have done anything to get her back. But deep down, so far down that he didn't even acknowledge it; he knew loyalty came before love. He felt - guilty? Responsible? He _knew_ something was wrong, when she'd stopped breathing, when she came back from death again, he knew then _something_ wasn't right. But he had wanted, needed, for her to be ok, for it to all be his imagination. Then he'd found Dr Tanizaki, partially converted and he'd known for sure that his Lisa was gone.

Neither of them had spoken, and the silence that they each radiated was killing him. Yes, the lyrics told the tale of his feelings, but there was still something missing. Jack blamed him; he knew he did. So why didn't he just get it out of the way? Get _him_ out of the way?

_Confrontations in my mind,  
>Got me runnin' out of time,<br>Don't let go._

He was so screwed up he barely knew what was normal anymore. He was confused; all he wanted was some help. Leave it too long and the distain would grow. The trust he had so carefully built up and shattered would be lost forever.  
>He wanted to shout out his anger. His confusion. His guilt and pain. Instead he settled for a hypothetical. Dejectedly looking up from his empty glass, wondering absently were all the drink had gone, he finally met Jack's eyes again.<br>"If I were to throw my glass at your head, would my glass be the only thing that got hurt?" he slurred, his mind foggy with alcohol.  
>Jack looked back sadly, opening his mouth to talk but being cut off by the empty bottle careering past his head and exploding on the wall behind him. Ianto's dead shot marred only slightly in his intoxication.<br>Ianto tutted sadly, "See, now I have to clear it up". Placing his glass on the chair, he turned to leave when he felt a hand on his arm, stopping him. Turning back he found himself wrapped in two strong arms.  
>"Oh Ianto" he heard Jack sigh, and suddenly he seemed to find a new reserve of tears. Grabbing fistfuls of Jacks shirt, he buried his head, shaking with grief and loss and the gut wrenching loneliness and moreover the fear that chilled his heart. He didn't know what was going to happen to him, but just for that moment he let the façade slip and his emotions pour out to the man who he hated, loved and above all trusted unquestionably.<p>

_Don't let go._


	3. Fix You

**It's been a while I know, I went on holiday and there was no internet connection =/  
>Anyway, lots of late-ish nights meant I got a <em>lot<em> of writing done! (yeeey! woooo!)  
>So, here is the next instalment, Beta'd, as always, by my lovely When The Wind Stands Fair<br>DISCLAIMER: I'm sure I don't need to tell you, TW belongs to the BBC, The song to Coldplay blah blah blah, you know the score...**

**So, on with the show =) x**

Fix You – Coldplay

He didn't know what had possessed him to pull the near-hysterical Welshman into his arms. Pity, he supposed, and maybe a little guilt. He of all people should have known what he was going through, should've seen how broken he was. He'd been through enough himself; he would have thought he'd be able to see the signs by now. And then Ianto had started crying again, not the loud wails he'd heard so many times, cries for attention and no more. No, this was silent, yet he was shaking uncontrollably in the way only Ianto knew how. The contradiction in terms. The silent cry of despair.  
>The track changed and Jack momentarily wondered if Ianto was slightly psychic in his music tastes.<p>

_When you try your best but you don't succeed,  
>When you get what you want but not what you need,<br>When you feel so tired but you can't sleep,  
>Stuck in reverse.<em>

He had tried with this man, he really had. Okay, so from the outside he probably seemed like the usual "Captain Jack Harkness", the perpetual flirt. And he _had_ flirted, yes, but for a reason. It was his way. He was no good with words, but he used the flirtations to make them feel like a team, treated as equals. And he'd thought he was getting somewhere, he really had. But Ianto - he was just so closed off, so independent. It was like, well, like trying to get him to talk about his past.  
>He felt a sort of tiredness bite deep into his bones. He was tired, tired of this, all of it. Some days he didn't want to be the Captain, fearless leader of Torchwood Three, lovable rogue, heartless bastard, you name it. Sometimes he just wanted to be Jack, the traveller, the oh-so-convincing conman, with the roguish smile and penchant for causing trouble. Sometimes, although he wouldn't admit it, he didn't even want to be Jack. He didn't <em>want<em> to hide the grief and pain and loss behind the wall of boisterous flirtations like he had grown so accustomed to doing. That's not to say that wasn't his nature, it was its just that there were other sides, sides he'd never cared to explore. Sides where he did feel, really feel something other than the show he liked to put on.

_And the tears come streaming down your face,  
>When you lose something you can't replace,<br>When you love someone but it goes to waste,  
>Could it be worse?<em>

He let out a deep sigh, his hands unconsciously carding through Ianto's hair and rubbing comforting circles on his back. There was a strange feeling twisting in his gut, somewhere between pain, sadness and understanding. He _knew_ how it felt, to lose everything you love, to have it all just come crashing back down around you. Hell, he'd lost his _life_, and arguably his humanity! But he also knew you had to pick up the pieces and try your damnedest to move on, no matter how hard. When he'd had to, he'd had no-one to help him, to tell him that he'd get through this, that they'd gone for a reason and that's just the way it had to be. But Ianto had him.

_Lights will guide you home,  
>And ignite your bones,<br>And I will try to fix you. _

And the truth was he would try. It'd be hard on the both of them, Ianto wasn't a talker and he wasn't one to bring pain up. But he hoped that they could come to some sort of agreement. He didn't want to lose this man, he had effectively held the team together after Suzie, when the job suddenly became that little bit less respectful. A smile here, a kind word there, and a cup of the best coffee brewed on earth exactly when needed. He was their saviour, no matter what had happened, and Jack knew he would've done the same thing for love.

_High up above or down below,  
>When your too in love to let it go,<br>But if you never try you'll never know  
>Just what you're worth. <em>

He had to make Ianto see, the team needed him, _he_ needed him. He was the most level headed one there, quick on the ball with a quip to counter Owen's snarks, or understanding Toshiko like no other had tried to, listening to her ramble on about this piece of technology, looking genuinely interested. You couldn't fake that, surely?  
>He had to make this mad, stubborn Welshman see that he was worth more than he could ever know. But the look in his eyes, the hopelessness he had seen there after the incident with 'the Cyberwoman', he refused to call her Lisa, as far as he was concerned Ianto's Lisa died with hundreds of others in the Battle of Canary Warf. He had to make him see that he was important, that he was special. He needed to fix the broken Ianto Jones, to put the shattered shards back together. At the least he had to try. He had to.<p>

_Tears stream, down your face,  
>When you lose something you cannot replace.<em>

There was no miracle cure, just like there was nothing they could do for the remnants of the half-converted Lisa. It would take time to let the wounds heal, it would take patience to wait for the right time. More than that, it would take caring to help, and maybe even a little empathy. Yes, it probably felt like his world had ended, he should try waking up alone on a space station surrounded by corpses and 'Dalek dust' to find the one person you trusted running off and leaving you _because you were wrong!_ Then living hundreds of years in an almost constant moray of loveless monotony. There had been highlights, of course there had, but nothing could last. Ever.  
>So now he had his chance, to personally make a difference to a member of his team. He had the opportunity to help Ianto Jones, to teach him it was worth getting back on his feet if only to save the people of Cardiff. If that meant just being there, having his shirt soaked with the Welshman's tears then so be it. In the least he was making the process a little easier, maybe even bearable? He'd have to wait and see.<p>

_I will try to fix you_


	4. Creep

**It's been a while I know, things have been really mad for my Beta and I due to the unfortunate necessity of exams =/  
>I am ecstatic to say that I took my last exam today, which means three months of freedom, an a <strong>**whole lotta writing (yeeey!)  
><strong>**As always the spiel about the BBC and Radiohead owning nigh-on everything here.  
>So without further ado<strong>

Creep - Radiohead

Why? Why was Jack here? Why was he comforting him? _What did he care? _  
>He couldn't do this, here, now - it was too much. He was letting Jack <em>fucking<em> Harkness see him, weak and pathetic. But that's all he was really, the weirdo, the phantom, the _teaboy_ when it suited them, and no-one the rest of the time. Ianto Jones: the Invisible Man. And now here he was, crying into Jack's shoulder like the stupid, pathetic _wretch_ he was, whilst his soul was bared in the music. His weak, wretched soul.

_When you were here before,  
>Couldn't look you in the eye,<br>You're just like an angel,_

Jack was seeing it all: the pain. The heartache. The guilt. He was seeing the breakdown. He couldn't see that; Ianto would _never_ be able to look at him again. He wouldn't see Ianto, not anymore. He'd see this _thing_, this _wreck_ before him. Jack Harkness, the avenging angel. He'd avenged the deaths Lisa had caused. So why was he still here? Why wasn't Ianto Jones dead? Why wasn't he retconned back to puberty? What was so difficult? He'd more than overstepped the mark, he'd jumped on it, done a little jig, and run so far he'd met it coming. They hardly _needed_ him; he was nothing, hired because he'd stalked his boss and found a pterodactyl. Hell, even the way he was introduced, _'...and this is Ianto Jones, he cleans up after us and gets us everywhere on time... plus he looks good in a suit'_. And that's all he did. He just merged into the background, doing what was needed, and occasionally more, just to try to...fit.

_I wish I was special,  
>You're so fucking special.<em>

All of them, every fucking one was special in their own way. Tosh, bless her, she knew next to nothing about human interaction but when she got her hands on a new piece of technology her eyes would sparkle and she could work with it happily for hours. She was a true genius, brilliant, and funny if anyone bothered. Then there's Owen. God, that man could be such an unrelenting _prick_ sometimes, but such a brilliant doctor. He just seemed to be able to deal with it all, all the bodies piling up. Granted, he had a somewhat strange means of stress relief, namely firing snarky comments in Jack's direction, but he liked to pride himself that he gave as good as he got. Gwen, to be perfectly honest, he barely knew. That's not to say he didn't care, it's just he took his time assessing all of them. And time just ran out.

_But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo,  
>What the hell am I doing here?<br>I don't belong here_

He couldn't go back, not now, not after what he'd done to them. They were possibly the closest thing he'd had to a family since... _since it hurt Lisa too much to stay conscious._ Oh god, he could feel the breakdown building up, but he refused to let it out, refused to let the real meltdown begin. This wasn't right; he was supposed to be passed out by now, collapsed in a drunken stupor so it didn't hurt so much when Jack did the final step in avenging those deaths. Those innocent people Lisa had murdered, that he'd _let_ Lisa murder. It was all his fault.

_I don't care if it hurts,  
>I want to have control.<em>

He took full responsibility for what she'd done. It was his fault. He _needed_ it to be his fault. He'd loved her so much; he'd always been so loyal. And now was no time to stop. He'd take control of her; he'd get her body away from here, away from this stupid place. And then he'd disappear. Ianto Jones would never have been here. He'd walk though London or Cardiff or wherever the hell he'd end up and feel nothing, know nothing. He'd have false memories through his years after university, he'd have no idea what the fuck Torchwood was. That is, if he was still alive. He didn't care about his life. He...he'd kid himself every day that he was a _part _of them, one of them. That they care, that they'd even notice if he were never to appear again. If he were to truly be gone. Not invisible. Gone.

_I want you to notice,  
>When I'm not around.<em>

How long would it take before they stopped calling out for refills. He let out a dry, bitter chuckle, but it was short-lived; that tiny scrap of humour. How long before they began to do their own work, till they'd fall back into covering for themselves? _How long until they forgot?_

"Ianto?" God, now Jack wanted to talk.  
>"What, Jack? What the <em>fuck<em> do you want!" he screamed, pulling away.  
>"Ianto-" but Ianto silenced him with a single, humourless laugh, he was teetering on the edge of hysteria, he could feel it. Or maybe he'd already reached it and come out the other side. He didn't know. He barely cared.<br>"Can't you hear it Jack? The songs? They're me, they talk about me!" he chuckled again, a hollow, dead laugh, "They _scream out_ Ianto Jones! So why can't anybody hear it?" He could hear his voice turning into what sounded suspiciously like a whimper. No! He was _not_ going to cry, not anymore. He was stronger than this, he had to be. For fucks sake, he'd survived Canary fucking Wharf! Possibly the _worst_ battle in human _history_ and he'd survived! He wasn't going to break now.

_Whatever makes you happy,  
>Whatever you want<em>

He would put the mask back on. He'd play the part he was expected to play, if only because he had nowhere left to turn. Nothing left to live for. If it suited Jack he'd act like nothing had changed, if he insisted on keeping him on then he would wear the mask. It had become second nature to him. To hide the pain behind a wall of distant politeness. Hide the lies behind loyalty and the ever-losing battle behind wit. He had _clung_ to the mask, the façade, because it was the only certainty he had. Now it was the only thing he had left.  
>He could see Jack watching him from the corner of his eye, a strange expression on his face that Ianto couldn't quite place. He didn't want him to be there, and yet he wasn't quite sure he wanted him to leave. None of it was making sense anymore.<br>"Ianto-" Jack tried again.  
>"What do you <em>want<em>, Jack? I'm still alive and I know who I am so what the fuck do you want from me?" He hadn't meant to finish on a scream, but there it was.  
>"I'm not going to retcon you Ianto. I told you that already, and I'm not going to kill you: too much paperwork" His attempts at dark humour fell flat.<br>"Then what are you doing here?" he sighed, exasperated.  
>"To make sure you hadn't done something stupid. There's paperwork for that too" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look Ianto, you're a valuable member of this team, and I'm not saying I'm not pissed with you: you betrayed us all. You betrayed our trust and you hid yourself. What I'm saying is that there's still going to be a place for you at Torchwood. They won't admit it, but they'll miss you."<p>

His comments were hitting too close to the mark. He had to compose himself, he didn't need this; he wanted to be unconscious, drunk off his head and expecting the worst hangover in existence. He wanted to be drinking away the memory of the creature Lisa had become, not dredging his betrayal up. The alcohol was marring his judgement somewhat, it must've been. Otherwise he wouldn't have let himself go in front of his _boss_ and he most certainly wouldn't have wheeled on him.  
>"Get out." He growled, anger rising in his chest, cooled somewhat by the still unchecked tears pouring down his face. "Just get the fuck out of my life, Jack Harkness! I don't need this right now, and I don't need you" he spat. The look of shock that flashed swiftly in the American's eyes sent a pang of guilt through his stomach. Who was he to shout like that? He was nobody; a ghost. But then the emotion was pushed out of the way by anger and a hard resolve. <em>Maybe a little too hard? <em>He like to kid himself that Jack actually cared enough to keep him alive and working, but it was probably more that it was too much hassle to do anything else. He barely registered Jack's departure; he was trying to desperately fight an uphill battle. But as the door swung shut on his unwanted guest, he finally let the mask go, and the emotions come pouring out. Ianto Jones finally gave in to the meltdown that had been brewing for a long time, lost and alone inside him. He half hoped Jack would return, but he knew in his heart that there was no reason to. Why would he care about a stupid, weak-willed freak like him?

_I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo, what the hell am I doing here?  
>I don't belong here.<em>


End file.
